


Harbinger

by radiofreekerberos



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Astral Projection, Body Horror, Galra Keith (Voltron), Hurt Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) Whump, M/M, Minor Character Death, Parallel Universes, Protective Shiro (Voltron), Psychic Abilities, SHEITH - Freeform, Sexually Transmitted Diseases, Sickfic, Team Voltron Family, Whump Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-01-18 22:29:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12397536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radiofreekerberos/pseuds/radiofreekerberos
Summary: Keith lurches onto his side and vomits bile onto the metal floor plates. Haggar’s expression barely shifts. He brushes the sticky hair from his eyes with one shaking hand and freezes, staring cross-eyed at the pure white strands. “What… the,” he gasps in dismay. “What the fuck did you do to me?!”or, the one where Keith is poisoned by dark quintessence





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well it was bound to happen, first multi-chapter fic. Got a lotta irons in the fire, that's just how we rollin' right now.

“You have thirty-ticks,” Kolivan’s voice murmurs in his ear. Keith ignores it, grimacing in concentration as he deflects Haggar’s attack with his Marmora blade. She winks out like a flashbulb in front of him and Keith stumbles a bit as he slashes through thin air. 

“Shit,” he mutters, his eyes darting around the cargo bay, wary of allowing Haggar to get the drop on him.

“Keith,” Kolivan says, “twenty-five ticks to detonation.”

_No shit,_ Keith wants to say. He’s the one who set the charges, strategically scattering them throughout the glowing vials of quintessence stacked inside the cargo hold. The combined explosive force should be enough to take out at least three ships in the convoy, interrupting the Galra fleet’s fuel supply for the foreseeable future.

Although, he’d prefer not to be _on_ the ship when that happens.

“Twenty-ticks,” Kolivan says flatly. “You know the code.”

Yeah, he knows the code. Every man for himself. 

He glances over his shoulder. There’s nothing standing between him and the open door at the end of the catwalk. He makes a break for it, spinning on his heel and sprinting for the door. 

He gets that feeling, that prickly feeling that makes him want to jump out of his skin, and suddenly he knows where Haggar is going to be. Without breaking stride he tosses the blade from his right hand into his left and slashes a wide arc through the air just as Haggar reappears in a flash of black… whatever. 

She shrieks, dodging his blow like a cat. “You’ve interfered with my plans for the last time boy!”

_Boy,_ why does everyone insist on calling him that? He hasn’t been a boy in… He’s never been a boy. Shiro used to say that Keith was born ninety, but then Shiro used to say a lot of things that Shiro never says anymore.

Haggar raises her clawed hands. A ball of dark energy pulsates between them. Keith dives onto his knees and slides past her just as a crackling bolt of energy shoots over his head. He leaps back onto his feet and sprints through the door, Haggar’s enraged scream following him out into the corridor. 

“Kolivan, you still there?” He huffs a little breathlessly, but the only answer is dead air. Nope. Gone. Change of plans. 

He calls up the ship’s schematics from the data storage unit on his wrist and consults the virtual display for a moment. Then he pulls a sharp left and darts down the corridor. He’s got thirteen-ticks to make it to the escape pods. 

Two drone soldiers appear in front of him. Keith dodges their fire, violet energy bolts racing past him as he continues to run. The blade in his left hand shrinks to dagger size. He tosses it into his right hand and launches it at the nearest drone. It strikes the robot square in the chest. 

Sparks fly as Keith races past it and plucks the dagger from its chest before it even has a chance to hit the floor. He runs straight at the other one, planting his foot on its arm and his hand on its shoulder, he vaults over its head and yanks the laser rifle from its hand as he goes. He shoots it from behind and turns to find two more drones rushing towards him. He dispatches them both with the laser rifle then chucks it and continues racing down the corridor.

He reaches the first pod in the bay with five-ticks to spare and quickly punches the control panel with his fist. The pod doors split apart in front of him. His skin starts to crawl. “Shit!” he gasps, whirling around a second too late as Haggar materializes directly in front of him. She lunges at him just as the first charge goes off. 

Something cold and sharp bites into Keith’s side and he screams, stumbling backwards into the pod. Haggar falls on top of him and Keith gasps in pain as something twists inside him like broken glass. She claws at his face as the pod doors snap shut behind them and the pod automatically disengages from the ship. 

A chain reaction of explosions rocks the pod and they’re suddenly tumbling through space on the crest of a giant shockwave. Alarms blare as the runaway pod sends the two of them flying, tossing them around the tumbling cabin like a pair of broken dolls.

Keith slams into a control panel and falls onto his hands and knees, spitting blood. He’s lost sight of Haggar. He shivers and falls backwards onto his heels and discovers the black hilt of a dagger protruding from his abdomen. Coils of steam rise from the wound melting the filigrees of white frost coating the ominously glowing blade. 

That can’t be good.

Haggar comes at him again. She reaches for the dagger in his gut, her face twisted in calculating fury. Keith has no idea what she’s planning to do. He grabs her by the wrists, preferring not to find out. She’s strong, almost preternaturally so. Keith grits his teeth, desperately trying to hold off her raking clawed fingers, but his entire body is starting to go numb, as if the frigid blade in his gut is slowly turning him to ice.

A strange sort of tingling shoots up his spine and suddenly his skin is crawling again. It feels like a thousand bugs are rending his flesh, burrowing into the gaps in his spine and punching holes in his gasping chest. 

He cringes, blinking cold sweat from his eyes. His grip on Haggar’s wrists slips and she breaks into a ghastly smile. The tingling sensation reaches the back of Keith’s neck and crawls over his scalp, setting his hair on end. Then Keith’s eyes go wide as something explodes inside his head.

Everything shifts around him. His stomach flips and the pod bleeds into racing streaks of light as Haggar transforms before his eyes into a young Altean woman with lilac colored hair and amber eyes. Keith startles, his mind flooding with memories that don’t belong to him. Honerva, that’s her name and she loves to laugh. She hates wearing shoes. She’s a reader. She reads, anything and everything she can get her hands on. She’s studying alchemy at the Altean Academy of Sciences. She’s got a soft spot for animals and she loves the smell of libraries.

Abruptly Keith returns to himself, his mind recoiling like a rubber band stretched to its limit before it suddenly snaps back to its original shape. His hands are still wrapped around Haggar’s wrists, but she’s tense and completely still, frozen in his feeble grasp. 

The pod tilts precariously before its flightpath finally straightens out and the hood slips from her head revealing the Honerva from his vision, save for the leached white hair and Altean markings bleeding down the length of her face. 

She looks… horrified, and Keith instinctively knows through their shared memories that she’s horrified at herself, at what she’s become. “Harbinger,” she whispers incredulously, and Keith flinches because that’s when the screaming starts.

A hundred voices, a thousand, ten-thousand, all screaming inside his head in dark impotent fury. They’re coming from her. They’re coming from Haggar, spinning around her head like invisible harpies. Keith doesn’t know how she can stand it. He flinches away from her, his hands clawing at his temples as the enraged wailing reaches a crescendo, carving a searing path into his head like a hot knife. He screams, his voice lost inside the howling multitude swirling around him. 

Something dark and snakelike uncoils from Haggar’s chest, a living oil slick glowing with deep violet quintessence. It rises up and heads directly for Keith. He tries to scrabble away, ignoring the bitter pain racing up his side as he crashes up against the console at his back. The thing slams into him and everything goes black. He can’t move. His voice fails as the pressure inside his head builds, until he’s sure his skull will blow apart.

Then it stops. It all just stops, the screaming the paralysis the pressure, everything, and Keith is left gasping in a crumpled heap against the auto flight console. Haggar is hunched in front of him looking like Haggar again, though she makes no move against him. Her expression is unreadable. 

Keith lurches onto his side and vomits bile onto the metal floor plates. Haggar’s expression barely shifts. He brushes the sticky hair from his eyes with one shaking hand and freezes, staring cross-eyed at the pure white strands. “What… the,” he gasps in dismay. “What the fuck did you do to me?!”

Haggar slowly slides the hood back onto her head. “I’m sorry,” she says simply, then she’s gone in a noxious cloud of black…whatever.

Keith can’t even imagine what the fuck that was all about. He sags, each breath a study in pain so bitter cold, it burns. He tries to sit up, but his limbs are like lead, numb and unresponsive. His head is splitting. He can’t seem to keep it from hitting the floor with a muted clang. Everything fades to murky gray.

_Keith!_ a voice calls tensely, _Oh God, Keith!_

“Sh… Shiro?” Keith murmurs hopefully, opening his eyes and glancing around the dimly lit flight cabin, but there’s no one there. He’s alone. Of course he is.

The pod doors clang and Keith’s stomach flips as the pod abruptly changes course. A few minutes later, the doors split open, revealing the broad figure of a man backlit from behind by a brightly lit landing bay.

“Shiro?” Keith pleads.

It’s Kolivan. He charges into the cabin and crouches down beside Keith. Keith blinks away disappointed tears as Kolivan quickly sizes up the situation, the white hair and the poisoned blade protruding from Keith’s abdomen. 

He does not look happy. “You are going to be the death of me, little one,” he says, sighing deeply.

Keith pulls a face. “Don’t call me that,” he mutters. 

Then he blacks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on the [tumblr](https://radiofreekerberos.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two, hope you enjoy :)

He wakes in a healing pod back at the castle. Kolivan is standing in front of it, arms crossed over his chest. The look on his face is severe, though Keith figured out a while ago that’s just his default expression. Coran is also there, puzzling over the virtual computer terminal at the center of the room. He looks worried. There’s a momentary pang when Keith realizes they’re the only ones in the room, but he immediately pushes it back down again.

He blinks, and stares at the fringe of white hair falling into his eyes, then he swallows and takes an experimental breath, wincing at the nagging pull in his side. The newly healed skin is still pretty tender, though unbroken when he gives it a tentative brush with his fingers. His head is splitting and he’s nauseous. He’s also fucking freezing. He pulls a face. He’s never been in one before, but it seems to him that something called a “healing pod” should probably be a little better at healing.

The pod door slips open and Kolivan’s big hands immediately dart out to grip Keith’s shoulders as he stumbles out of it. Something explodes inside Keith’s head. _Kolivan and Antok were lovers. They had an adopted son called Fen who was killed during a recon mission. He was only a couple of years older than Keith at the time. Kolivan used to call him little one. He still cries for both of them alone in his room at night._

Keith startles, flinching out of Kolivan’s grip as if stung. 

“Are you well?” Kolivan asks, a note of concern creeping into his voice.

“I’m fine,” Keith says automatically, except he’s really not because what the fuck was that? He swallows. “I’m just a little…” he wavers when the persistent headache behind his eyes suddenly blossoms into stabbing pain. He screws his eyes shut, unsteadily swaying on his feet and rubbing his forehead with a groan.

“Sit, sit, sit,” Coran says, laying a guiding hand on Keith’s shoulder and easing him to a seat on top of the circular steps beneath the pod ring. Keith’s head explodes. _Coran is 114-years-old. Alfor’s final words to him were protect her with your life. His breakfast this morning consisted of bleak porridge with slotberries. He’s afraid of orb-weavers, which are essentially bright fluorescent green space-spiders._

Keith recoils from Coran’s touch. He stumble crawls down the steps on his hands and knees and vomits green bile onto the sunken floor. His head is throbbing.

“Keith!” Coran cries, following after him, reaching out to steady Keith’s heaving body. Kolivan charges down to offer his help as well, his lips pressed together in a tight grim line.

“Get away from me!” Keith cries, scrambling backwards across the floor. He pulls up short against the pod room computer terminal. “Don’t… Don’t touch me!” he gasps, throwing up his hands to keep them away. He has no idea what’s going on, but weirdness seems to happen when they touch him. 

Cold sweat trickles into his eyes. He shivers, wiping it away. He’s freezing. His teeth chatter as Kolivan and Coran exchange a troubled glance between them. Keith recognizes that look. It’s the look he used to get when something he’d said or done would make one of his foster parents question his sanity and he’d be shipped off to another home, somewhere worse, where his new guardian could give a shit less about his health.

Kolivan’s resting pissed-off face grows even more severe. “This isn’t right Coran!” he snaps tartly. “He should not have been left alone like this! Where are the other paladins?”

Nothing _other_ about it, Keith nearly says. It’s just the five of them now, Keith’s no longer one of them, but he can’t seem to make himself say the words.

Coran practically squirms with discomfort. “Shiro felt the mission to seal the coalition agreement with the Kintari was too important to postpone,” he says meekly. “They were all very torn up about it though,” he says, his gaze dropping to his hands in answer to Kolivan’s unforgiving scowl.

“More important than this?!” Kolivan cries with a vague sweep of his big hand. “More important than Haggar compromising a Blade mission yet again? She nearly killed the boy!”

“Stop!” Keith cries in annoyance. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here!” 

That shuts them both down long enough for Keith to take a breath and climb to his feet, hugging himself for warmth. 

“They really did want to be here Keith,” Coran offers sheepishly, “but Shiro…”

“I get it Coran, it’s fine,” Keith says, cutting him off. Shiro is all about the mission these days. “Kolivan let’s just go,” he says, gritting his teeth against the throbbing pain behind his eyes, “tell the others we’re sorry we missed them Coran.”

“Go? No, you can’t go,” Coran insists, springing towards him. Keith flinches away before Coran can lay a hand on him and Coran takes a step back, looking vaguely hurt by Keith’s reaction. Keith feels a sudden flare of guilt as Coran throws his palms up in surrender. “I’m sorry Keith,” he says, “but given the situation I can’t in all good conscience allow you to leave,” He glances at Kolivan, who unsurprisingly frowns and crosses his arms over his chest. “Kolivan agrees.”

Keith pulls a face, his aching eyes shifting between them. “What’s that supposed to mean? What situation?”

They exchange that look again. Keith scowls. If he doesn’t start getting some answers in the next thirty-seconds he’s gonna punch somebody. Probably Kolivan, he looks like he can take a punch. “Coran…” Keith growls darkly, packing every ounce of intimidation he can into his shivering five-foot-seven-inch frame. 

Coran blanches and Keith thinks Kolivan may be rolling his eyes, but it’s difficult to tell. “Do you remember the castle systems scanning you the quintent you arrived?” Coran asks him.

“Yeah, I guess,” he says. “Why?”

“It was adding your DNA profiles to the castle’s database,” Coran explains, “so you’d be able to access its systems.”

“Okay…” Keith says, waiting for the punchline.

“Your profile has changed,” Coran says ruefully, “I noticed it when we put you in the pod.”

“My…” Keith blinks, “What?” 

“Your DNA has been altered, little one,” Kolivan says, not unkindly.

“Don’t…” _call me that,_ Keith starts to say. Then he remembers the original object of Kolivan’s affection and the words die on his lips. Bile hits the back of his throat. He swallows it down. “Is that why my hair turned…” he can’t even finish the sentence, can’t even think about his altered appearance. It’s just another thing that sets him apart from the others. Another thing that alienates him from everyone else. 

“That would seem to be the most likely conclusion,” Coran says softly. “The truth is there’s really no way to tell how significant the changes to your genetic code may be, or how you’ll be affected by them.”

How he’ll be affected. Like maybe he’ll turn into some kind of weird psychic freak who can’t touch anyone without instantly knowing everything about them. Perfect. The guy who knows everyone’s secrets. That should instantly endear him to everyone he cares about. “Can you fix it?” he asks plaintively, “Put me back the way I was?”

“I’m afraid not,” Coran says regretfully. For a moment he looks as if he’s going to give Keith a hug, then he seems to think better of it. “Your DNA has been altered, but it would be impossible to identify which specific gene sequences have changed, or how they were previously configured. What’s the Earth expression, you can’t unbreak an egg?”

Keith closes his eyes, massaging his aching forehead with a trembling hand. He doesn’t know whether he’s grateful or disappointed that Coran didn’t go in for the hug.

“You’ll adapt,” Kolivan says firmly. “Whatever changes come, you’ll adapt and ultimately be made stronger by them.”

“Yes, of course you will,” Coran agrees, trying to bolster Keith’s mood with forced cheer, “and anyway, look at the bright side. It’s just hair, who cares what color it is right?”

Keith just stands there, looking at them. “Yeah,” he says flatly.

“In the mean time,” Coran says, gulping awkwardly, “you’ll find your room exactly the way you left it. The others should be getting back soon. They’ll be delighted to see you.”

“We’re _staying_?” Keith demands, shooting Kolivan a venomous look.

Kolivan seems completely unaffected by Keith’s anger, in fact he may even be rolling his eyes again. “Not we,” he says flatly, “you.”

“Kolivan please, I don’t…” 

“You are quite clearly not well!” Kolivan snaps, cutting him off. “You need to rest, little one,” he says, his tone softening. Keith shivers and hugs himself, sullenly averting his gaze. He hates it when Kolivan is kind. Hates it even more now that he knows the reason. He never wants to be anyone’s replacement son again. “Once Coran is satisfied that you have suffered no ill effects from your… transformation, you may return to the Blade.”

“And until then, you expect me to just sit on the sidelines like some sort of invalid,” Keith mutters under his breath.

“I _expect_ you to rest and receive whatever medical attention you need to recover,” Kolivan says sharply, reminding Keith that Galra have excellent hearing. “No arguments lit… Keith,” he says, lifting his hand. 

Keith skitters away just before Kolivan can give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Kolivan inhales sharply and actually looks a little hurt for a second. Keith guiltily looks away, hugging himself even more tightly and Kolivan’s frown deepens. “Keep me informed, Coran,” he says, then he exits the pod bay without looking back.

“Will do,” Coran calls pleasantly sidling up next to Keith. He waves politely at Kolivan’s retreating form as Keith silently stands there, worrying his bottom lip. “Well, looks like it’s just you and me now,” Coran says cheerfully, clapping his hand on Keith’s back. There’s another head explosion. _Allura’s mother was named Emilan. She was a childhood friend of Coran’s. In fact, he was in love with her, but it was unrequited. He stood by and watched her marry Alfor, one of his closest friends, and never told her how he really felt about her. It’s one of the reasons he’s always been so fiercely devoted to Allura, because in another life, she might have been his daughter._

Keith practically leaps out of Coran’s grasp, gasping and clawing at his throbbing head. He feels like an exposed nerve, erupting in agony at the slightest touch.

“Keith, What is it?” Coran cries tensely. “Please tell me.”

“It’s… nothing Coran,” Keith says, swallowing bile, “just a headache. I should probably go lie down.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Coran agrees, though Keith can tell by the look on his face that he knows it’s not nothing. “Would you like me to accompany you?”

“No, I’m fine,” Keith assures him. “I know the way.” He manages to force himself into some semblance of calm before leaving the pod bay, though he can feel Coran’s concerned eyes following him out into the corridor.

He sags against the wall as soon as the door slides shut behind him. He turns and presses his throbbing forehead to the cool metal, tears slipping from his aching eyes. “Keep it together!” he whispers fiercely to himself. “Keep it together!”

He palms the tears from his eyes and starts unsteadily walking towards the elevators that lead to the paladin’s wing. He enters one of them, clutching himself for warmth. It’s even colder out here than it was in the pod bay. His stomach is churning. As soon as the doors open to the living quarters, he realizes he’s going to be sick again. 

He hurries down the corridor to his room. The control panel still recognizes him and the door slides open as soon as he reaches it. He lurches inside, stumbling through the darkened bedroom to the bathroom where he proceeds to fall to his knees in front of the toilet and spew up his guts.

“Lights,” he rasps, spitting bitter bile into the bowl. He dry heaves a few more times before his stomach finally settles and he sits back against the shower doors with a tremulous sigh. He has no idea what’s making him feel so sick. Maybe it’s his body’s way of trying to adjust to his altered physiology. Whatever it is, Keith hopes it passes soon.

He slowly climbs to his feet and peels himself out of his medical garment, then he turns the shower on, hot water only, as hot as it’ll go. He’s so cold. He shivers and steps into the shower, sitting down inside the pulsing stream of water, hugging his knees to his chest because something about the hot water hitting his throbbing head is making him dizzy. He catches the slick white hair brushing the top of his shoulder out of the corner of one eye and shudders, screwing his eyes shut and dropping his head onto his knees. 

He’s terrified of what the others will think, of how they’ll react. Lance’s derision, Hunk’s pity, Pidge’s curiosity, Allura’s resolve and Shiro’s… He doesn’t know how Shiro will react. He doesn’t know how Shiro will react to anything anymore. They’ll have a million questions, of course they will. They’ll want to touch his hair, they’ll want to touch _him_.

He swallows and turns off the water. Then he slowly stands up, wincing slightly when he turns to open the shower door and his newly healed wound tugs at his flesh. He looks down, gingerly fingering the side of his abdomen where Haggar’s poisoned dagger parted his flesh. The skin is mottled, marred by a florid purple bruise. Only, it’s not a bruise. “What the fuck?” Keith murmurs, his eyes widening in dismay. 

He stumbles from the shower and wipes the condensation from the mirror over the sink with a sweep of his arm. He falters slightly when he sees his own pale face staring back at him. Even his eyebrows are white. He bites his lip and shifts his gaze to the discolored area of skin marring his side. It’s not a bruise. It’s his skin and it’s purple, a swath of purple skin where Haggar’s knife went in. 

Keith licks his lips. The patch is small. Maybe it’s some sort of scar left by the quintessence that was coating the blade. He can… He can live with that. He can live with white hair and a purple spot on his side. He can live with never being touched. He can live with it. He can. “Lights,” he murmurs, returning the room to darkness.

He shivers and towels himself off in the dark. He’s suddenly exhausted, as if he’s been running on pure adrenaline up until this moment and it all just dried up at once. He shuffles into the bedroom. There’s a black t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants laid out on the bed. Coran he guesses. He puts them on and climbs under the covers, pulling them up over his head. He curls up on his side, his knees pulled up to his chest, practically touching his throbbing forehead. 

He misses his bed. He misses the others, even Lance. He misses the way things used to be when they first arrived at the castle. He misses being one of them and he misses Red. He really misses Red. Even now he feels her absence like a constant ache inside him. She made him feel… cared for. Her protective warmth curled up against his consciousness at night made him feel like he was part of something bigger than himself, like he’d found his place in the universe. His place as Shiro’s right hand.

He misses Shiro the most. He misses Shiro even though he’s right here in the castle. He misses Shiro the way he used to be. No one else seems to notice how much he’s changed, but then Keith’s known him the longest. Shiro used to be the most compassionate person Keith ever knew. He used to be supportive and hopeful and self-deprecating. He used to be a huge dork. But he’s none of those things now.

Keith swipes the tears from his eyes and gives in to exhaustion, falling into a fitful sort of sleep...

***

_Keith? Keith, can you hear me?_

Keith opens his eyes, his head is splitting. “Shiro?” he murmurs, still half-asleep. He pushes the covers off his head and squints into the darkness.

_Yes_! Shiro exclaims excitedly. _You have no idea how long I’ve been trying to contact… you know what, it doesn’t matter._

Keith blinks. He can just about make out Shiro’s shape nervously pacing in front of the door. “How did you get in here?” he mutters irritably. He always sets the door to automatically lock, ever since he found out that Coran has no concept of personal space, or privacy.

_Never mind that now,_ Shiro says absently, _I need you to listen to me Keith. I need to tell you something and I need you to not freak out._

“Wait, what?” Keith says, sitting up. “Lights,” he rasps, blinking rapidly in the sudden flood of amber light. 

The room is empty. Keith rubs the sleep from his gritty eyes and glances around in confusion.

The chime rings on the door lock. “Keith," Shiro's voice calls from outside, "it’s me. Can I come in?”

Keith just sits there, staring at the closed door in owl-eyed silence.

“Keith?”

“Shiro?” Keith murmurs hesitantly. The door slips open, apparently taking Keith’s confused question as an invitation. 

Shiro steps into the room and pulls up short at the bewildered look on Keith’s face. “You okay?” he asks. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Was he hallucinating? Keith frowns and rubs his aching forehead. “Just a weird dream I guess,” he says.

Shiro comes closer, his lips pressing into a grim line as he takes in Keith’s… new normal. Keith can feel his cheeks burning under the scrutiny. He shivers and pulls his knees up to his chest as Shiro take a seat on the bed. 

“How’re you feeling?” Shiro asks him.

_Like hammered dog shit, thanks for asking._ “I’ll be all right,” Keith says, averting his eyes.

Shiro’s frown deepens. “Coran told me about your… situation.”

“He did?” Keith says, looking up. Of _course_ he did, no such thing as doctor/patient confidentiality in outer space.

There’s a weird look on Shiro’s face, Keith’s never seen it before. “I think we should move you down to the infirmary,” Shiro tells him. “We can set up a bed for you in the decontamination chamber.”

Keith blinks. The decontamination chamber only opens from the outside. It’s a security measure. “You wanna lock me up in the decontamination chamber?” he incredulously asks. "Why? Are you afraid someone might catch something?”

Shiro’s jaw clenches. “I just think it’s best to take precautions where Haggar is concerned,” he says tightly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Keith asks. 

“It means there have been a lot of unexplained security breaches lately,” Shiro says. “Kolivan told me that this was the third Blade mission that Haggar has infiltrated.”

“And you think _I_ had something to do with it?”

“Of course not,” Shiro says, “but her magic is powerful. It’s possible that you may have been compromised without even knowing it.”

“I’m not a spy for Haggar, Shiro,” Keith insists, a little breathlessly.

“Don’t take this the wrong way Keith,” Shiro says flatly, “but how would you know?”

Keith forgets how to breathe for a second. His stomach takes a turn, but he honestly doesn’t know if it’s because of the headache, or this conversation. He suddenly recognizes the look on Shiro’s face, open suspicion. He never in his wildest dreams thought Shiro would ever look at him like that. 

Tears prick his eyes, and he looks down before Shiro can notice, fitfully picking at the blankets surrounding him even as a tiny voice inside his head wonders if Shiro is right. Wonders if he has been compromised in some way. Haggar certainly did _something_ to him. He’s never trusted anyone more than he trusts Shiro. If Shiro thinks he’s a danger, then he must be.

“Keith,” Shiro murmurs, his tone softening, “I’m just worried about you. You know that right?” Keith can’t bring himself to look at him. “I want you close to the pod bay, in case there’s a medical emergency,” Shiro says, covering Keith’s hand in his. Keith’s head explodes. _He doesn't have a name of his own, other than the one his creators’ stole for him._

Keith flinches, snatching his hand away as if suddenly burned. His back hits the wall and his eyes go wide. 

There are two Shiros in the room. 

There’s the one sitting on the bed that he’s been talking to this entire time and another one, standing next to him, looking exactly the way Shiro looked when he disappeared from the black lion eighteen months ago. He’s still wearing the black paladin armor and sporting the same undercut he’s worn since they were a pair of randy kids back at the Garrison.

“Keith, what is it?” Shiro-on-the-bed demands tensely. “What’s wrong?”

The other Shiro… Old… Original-Shiro, presses a finger to his lips. “Remember what I told you earlier, Keith,” he says softly. “Don’t freak out.”

There’s really only one explanation for this, Keith thinks as his eyes waver between them, for _any_ of this. 

Keith is losing his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on the [tumblr](https://radiofreekerberos.tumblr/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry that this chapter took so long to finish. Real life has been especially real lately and I haven't had much time to write. Anyway, here it is and I hope you enjoy :)

“You’re completely freaking out right now, aren’t you,” Original-Shiro says, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Keith refuses to look at him. He focuses his attention on Shiro-on-the-bed, the real Shiro, not the Shiro he’s hallucinating. “You’re not hallucinating,” Original-Shiro says flatly. 

_Goddammit!_

Keith winces and closes his eyes. His head is throbbing so intensely, he’s seeing spots. He groans, swallowing bile. That’s just what he’d expect a hallucination to say, but then he supposes he’s technically talking to himself right now.

“You’re not talking to yourself,“ Original-Shiro says, folding his arms across his chest and Keith wishes his hand was bigger, so he could facepalm himself into the wall. 

“Keith, you’re scaring me; tell me what’s going on,” Shiro-on-the-bed says tensely.

Keith massages his forehead. “This… isn’t happening,” he mutters under his breath while the two Shiros regard him with very different looks on their faces. Shiro-on-the-bed’s mouth is pulled down in a wary frown, as if he’s anticipating some sort of attack while Original-Shiro is wearing that familiar look of concerned fondness Keith remembers so well. It makes him want to scream.

What the hell was he thinking? He’s not psychic. There’s no such thing as psychics. All the shit swimming around inside his head, carving him up from the inside out. Shiro’s… Shiro-on-the-bed is right, Haggar’s invaded his mind somehow, filled his head with fevered delusions. Even now he can still hear the screaming, scratching at the corners of his mind like wolves scratching at the door.

“I’m not a delusion,” Original-Shiro insists, “and I’m not reading your mind,” he says at the fleeting side eyed glance Keith aims at him, which Shiro-on-the-bed notices as well. “I just know how your mind works. I can practically see the wheels turning inside your head, but I swear to God Keith, I’m as real as you are and that guy,” he says indicating Shiro-on-the-bed with a strained tilt of his head, “is not me.”

Of course he’s not, but only because Keith can’t accept reality. Only because things have changed between them and Keith refuses to move on like a normal person. Instead he stubbornly continues to hold onto the feeble hope that things will miraculously return to the way they used to be, even going so far as to create the imaginary embodiment of everything he’s lost, right down to the haircut. 

“You need to trust me on this Sodapop,” Original-Shiro says. Sodapop, as in Sodapop Curtis from the Outsiders; Shiro only calls him that when he thinks Keith is being especially pig-headed, and then only when they’re alone. It’s almost enough to give Keith pause, almost.

“Keith, I am this close to throwing you over my shoulder and carrying you down to the infirmary myself,” Shiro-on-the-bed says, his mouth pinched in a grim line. It’s like a bucket of cold water in Keith’s face.

He shivers, blinking cold sweat from his eyes as he peels his sweaty back from the wall and forces himself to relax, though the last thing he wants to do is put himself within arms reach of anyone right now. “No, I’m… it’s just… my head,” he says, careful to keep his attention focused on Shiro-on-the-bed, despite Original-Shiro’s sudden scowl. “It’s… bad, like a migraine, or something.”

“Or something,” Original-Shiro says, his brow knitting in concern. Keith catches himself nearly glancing at him, before stubbornly forcing his eyes to the front.

Shiro-on-the-bed’s expression softens somewhat, even though Keith can tell he isn’t completely buying it. “All the more reason for you to be in the infirmary,” he says firmly.

“Keith, listen to me,” Original-Shiro says, “even if you think I’m a hallucination, even if you believe you’re talking to yourself right not, do not let this… thing, make you doubt yourself. Altered DNA or no, you _know_ who you are. I know you’d never betray us, and so do you.”

Keith licks his lips, trying to ignore the sudden pang of longing Original-Shiro’s trust stirs in him. “I’m just tired,” he says carefully. “I need…” he falters, awkwardly straightening when his churning stomach upends and bile crawls up the back of his throat.

“Uh-oh,” Original-Shiro murmurs and Shiro-on-the-bed springs to his feet as Keith scrambles off the bed and stumbles into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

He falls to his knees in front of the toilet and heaves up the contents of his stomach, which is virtually nothing of course, bile and water. Blade missions are physically demanding and Keith always fasts for eight-hours beforehand. All the Blades do. He only regrets it now, because he can feel his body weakening a bit more with each bout of illness. If only he could get rid of this fucking headache.

“Okay, I get it,” Original-Shiro says suddenly and Keith nearly smacks his head on the toilet seat in surprise. He followed Keith into the bathroom. Of _course_ he did, because he’s inside Keith’s head and Keith’s head is currently hanging over the toilet. “You won’t talk to me without some sort of proof that I’m me,” Original-Shiro continues, oblivious to Keith’s dilemma, “which means, I need to tell you something about me that no one else knows, not even you, something easily verifiable.”

Keith swallows and leans back against the shower doors, brushing damp white hair from his eyes. He has no idea what’s going on right now. Why would a figment of his imagination be going on about verifiable proof? It makes no sense. He turns his head, openly staring at the slowly pacing hallucination.

There’s a soft knock on the door. “Keith, you okay in there?” the other Shiro quietly asks and Keith involuntarily tenses.

“Yeah,” he rasps hoarsely around the bitter lump in his throat, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“I’ll be waiting,” the other Shiro says, and something in his tone makes an icy chill run down Keith’s spine. 

_He doesn't have a name._

Keith shivers. _Jesus, get it together Kogane._

Original-Shiro abruptly stops pacing and scrubs his face. He looks mortified and Keith is like ninety percent certain he’d never be able to make up a face like that in his head. “Okay, shit,” Shiro says, “fuck. Have Pidge download my medical file from the Garrison database. Her laptop should still be connected to it. There’s something in there that only me and Dr. Dos Santos know about,” he says, his lips flattening into a rueful grimace. “You’ll… You’ll know it when you see it. And Keith, don’t wait. You’re running out of time,” and with that cryptic declaration he’s just suddenly not there anymore, gone completely, in the space between eye blinks. 

Keith sits there, blinking in the dim light. A vague feeling of unease claws at his skin, similar to the prickly feeling he used to get, but more urgent somehow. For a moment he entertains the notion that he might not be losing his mind after all, but that would mean that there’s something far worse going on. He’s not sure which option he prefers. He slowly climbs to his feet and flushes the toilet. He rinses his mouth out with water from the sink and blinks in bemusement at the ghost-like reflection staring back at him from the mirror. 

He opens the door. Shiro, the other Shiro is standing on the other side of it. “Drink this,” he says, pressing a glass of water into Keith’s clammy hand, “you’re dehydrated.”

Keith accepts the glass and takes a tentative sip. It tastes bitter. “I’m just tired,” he says, and Shiro impulsively presses his flesh and blood hand to Keith’s forehead. Something explodes inside Keith’s head and… nothing. He gets nothing, almost as if there’s nothing _to_ get. Nothing beyond what he sensed earlier lingering on the surface of Shiro’s thoughts, as if surface is all there is, and the deep well of memories that usually make up a person’s psyche just aren’t there. 

There is _something_ though, something hidden. Keith can feel it, tickling at the corners of his mind like grasping fingertips. He instinctively knows that if he were to concentrate hard enough, he’d be able to pry it out. Instead, he flinches away from Shiro’s touch. 

“No fever,” Shiro says, frowning slightly as Keith puts a wide berth between them and puts down the glass. 

He climbs back into bed. “I just need some sleep,” he murmurs, shivering and drawing the covers to his chin, which is what he’d been trying to say a few minutes ago, before his body decided to betray him by reenacting scenes from the Exorcist.

Shiro sighs. “Fine,” he says, “but we’re not done talking about this.”

Not done talking about locking him up in the decontamination chamber for his own good? Great, Keith can’t think of anything he’d rather talk about more, except maybe his _feelings_. He turns his back on Shiro, rolling over onto his side and drawing his knees up to his chest.

He hears Shiro sigh again, then he hears the door slide open.

“You won’t have to worry for long,” Keith mutters bitterly, “in a few days I’ll be gone, then I’ll be Kolivan’s problem.”

“That’s not what this…” Shiro says exasperated, then he pauses and Keith imagines he can hear him scrubbing his face. “Just… get some rest,” he says finally. “We’ll talk more in the morning.”

Keith hears the door slide shut. He has no idea why he said that. _He doesn't have a name._ He shivers and draws the covers up over his head, because the thing is, he’s right, Shiro’s right, Keith probably does belong in the infirmary, only no one else suspects the truth. Keith groans, screwing his eyes shut, and what _does_ he suspect exactly? That he’s most likely hallucinating because of some weird spell Haggar cast on him and Shiro’s… different, not deceitful, not malicious, just… different.

_He doesn't have a name_

“Shit!” Keith snarls at the empty room. He peels the covers from his head and stabs a button on the communication panel over the bed. “Allura?” he says softly. He doesn’t know what time it is exactly, but when Keith was still a paladin, she’d go to her room for a bit after each mission to meditate or recharge or something.

“Keith?” Allura’s somewhat breathless response comes a few moments later. “How are you feeling? I’m so sorry we weren't there when Kolivan brought you in. We’ve all been terribly worried about-”

“I’m okay,” Keith says, cutting her off, “I mean, thank you,” he says, the color rising in his cheeks at the concern in her voice, “but I just… wanted to ask you something.”

“Of course,” Allura says immediately, “anything.”

Keith just lays there, awkwardly staring at the ceiling and worrying his bottom lip.

“Keith?”

“It’s kind of a weird question,” he says, “and sort of… personal.”

“I see,” Allura says slowly, “go on.”

Keith closes his eyes. “What was your mother’s name?”

His only answer is silence. That would be Allura’s brain trying to figure out the politest way to think what in the fucking fuck? 

“Allura?”

“My mother’s name was Emilan,” she says, confused, and Keith buries his burning face in his pillow. 

Weird psychic freak it is. All things considered, he’d have preferred crazy, because then Shiro wouldn't still be lost and Keith wouldn't be responsible for bringing some… thing back in his place. “Thanks,” he says softly, lifting his hand to sever the connection.

“Keith, may I say something?”

Keith rubs his burning eyes. “Sure,” he says, bracing himself for a lecture.

“I know things have been a bit… strained between you and Shiro lately,” she says and Keith cringes. Not the lecture he was expecting, but it’s somehow worse knowing that someone else has noticed the change between them. He wonders if the others have as well. “Perhaps you feel as if you can’t talk to anyone else. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that my door is always open if you ever want to talk.”

_He doesn't have a name_

“Keith?”

“I… thanks Allura,” Keith says softly, “I’ll… see you in the morning.”

“Yes,” Allura says, a note of disappointment in her voice. “Get some rest.” Keith lifts his hand. “Oh, and Keith,” she says. Keith pauses, his finger lingering over the comm button. “It’s good to have you back.”

Keith closes his sore eyes and rubs his aching forehead. “Good night,” he says simply, before severing the connection.

It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate the offer, but what would he even tell Allura if he were to take her up on it? By the way, I’m psychic now. I go straight to the fucking Dead Zone every time someone touches me. Oh, and I’m pretty sure that guy we’ve all been calling Shiro for the last eight-months was built in a laboratory. Keith sighs. He doesn’t know for sure if there are such things as space mental hospitals, but he’s pretty sure he’d wind up in one if he ever said anything like that.

Thing is, he knew. Deep down he knew something was off, but he didn't trust his instincts. He didn't even try. He just ran. He’s the worst leader ever. He was supposed to be looking out for the team. That’s what Shiro, the _real_ Shiro would've done, but the second things started going wrong between Keith and… Frankenshiro, he bailed. He abandoned his friends when they needed him the most.

He closes his eyes, consumed with guilt and exhaustion. He shivers and pulls the covers up over his head then falls headlong into fitful sleep…

***

The corridor is still cold and dark when Keith emerges from his room early the next morning to stand shivering and hugging himself in front of Pidge’s closed door. He’d purposely risen early to avoid contact with too many people at once, but the Castle’s environmental systems are still set to sleep mode and he’s fucking freezing.

He doesn't have any clothes here. His cleaned and mended Blade uniform is hanging inside the locker in his room, courtesy of Coran again he supposes. The only other thing in there was the black hoodie Shiro gave him. He just bundled Keith up in it one night when he couldn’t ignore his cold hands any longer. He said it bothered him knowing that Keith was uncomfortable. Keith hadn’t been, not really. Like most distractions, the cold was something he used to be able to just tune out. The hoodie smelled of Shiro though, so he kept it. It still does. Keith couldn't bring himself to take it with him when he left to join the Blade because things had gotten so awkward between them. He realizes now that it’s because _this_ Shiro isn't the same man that gave it to him.

He pushes the overlong sleeve of Shiro’s hoodie up past his hand, and double-checks to make sure the data storage unit covering his wrist is still concealed beneath it. He waves his trembling hand in front of the door panel. The intercom chirps announcing his presence. There’s no answer. Keith chews on his bottom lip, torn between guilt at interrupting Pidge’s sleep and impatience over verifying Original-Shiro’s identity. 

He wants so badly for it to be him, the _real_ Shiro, but he doesn't trust himself enough to know for sure without proof. Whatever Haggar did to him, it’s getting worse. There are voices whispering inside his head. They’re barely audible, but getting harder to ignore. He might be hallucinating, he needs Shiro’s medical records to know for sure.

He waves his hand in front of the door panel again. “Lance! Forget it,” Pidge finally answers a few moments later, her voice gravelly with sleep, “no rematches! I beat your ass fair and square. Deal with it!”

“Pidge, it’s Keith,” Keith says, he assumes she’s talking about the video game Hunk jury-rigged for them in Lance’s room. They spend an awful lot of downtime competing against each other. Pidge always wins, but Lance refuses to quit. They invited Keith to join them a couple of times, but he doesn’t play video games. Not since he was a kid and some of the older kids in the group home he was living in at the time beat him up for being too good at it.

The door slides open suddenly to reveal a sleep disheveled Pidge standing in the doorway. She eyes Keith in silence for a moment, her big brown eyes wide with concern, then she rushes to meet him in the corridor and throws her arms around his chest in a fierce embrace. Something explodes inside Keith’s head. _The Garrison trio have been officially reported missing, presumed dead. Keith is wanted for questioning in connection with their disappearance. Shiro is wanted for questioning as well. Faced with the loss of her entire family, Pidge’s mom… took her own life. Her body was found by a family friend in the bathtub of her home. She’d slashed her wrists._

Keith gasps and hastily disentangles himself from Pidge’s arms. He flees to the other side of the corridor, bracing himself against the far wall. The dull throbbing in his head flares into sudden knife like pain amid the loud and discordant roar of wailing voices. Keith whimpers, his trembling fingers crawling up the sides of his face to weakly rake his snow white hair.

“Keith! Oh my God, are you okay?” Pidge cries, stepping towards him. “Do you need a pod?”

Keith winces and glances further down the dim corridor. Any louder and they’ll risk waking the others. He swallows and straightens up, forcing himself into a semblance of calm. The voices recede to whispers and he exhales a long shuddering breath. “No, I’m okay,” he says softly, though judging by the alarmed look on Pidge’s face, she remains dubious, “I just… had kind of a rough night.”

That much is true. That tiny sip of water Frankenshiro offered him earlier? He threw that up about twenty minutes later, and he’s been throwing up every few hours since. If he were back on Earth he’d probably be lying in a hospital bed with an IV in his arm by now, but he can’t worry about that. Whatever this is, he has to power through it and concentrate on finding whoever’s pulling Frankenshiro’s strings. Right now Keith’s the only one who knows the truth; he needs to keep it that way to keep the others safe.

“Well, come inside and sit down then,” Pidge says. She rushes ahead of him back through her open room door and unceremoniously sweeps a pile of junk off the desk chair. “Come on, sit, sit, sit,” she babbles, patting the seat.

Keith casts one last furtive glance along the darkened corridor and slowly follows her inside.

The door slides shut behind him.

“Are you sure you're okay?” Pidge asks, eyeing him with some concern as he steps over a pile of “space-souvenirs" and sags into the offered chair.

“Yeah,” Keith says, forcing himself to sit up straight, “I just… have a headache.”

“You should talk to Coran, maybe he can give you something for it.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, licking his lips, “I’ll do that. Actually, that’s kind of why I came to see you.”

“Oh?”

And here’s where the big fat lie comes in, which Keith sucks at. No strike that, half of what he does with the Blades involves subterfuge and Keith is surprisingly good at it. What he’s never been any good at is lying to the people he cares about. He can count on one hand the number of times he tried to keep something from Shiro. Shiro never called him on it, but it was clear from the look on his face that he always knew exactly what Keith was doing.

Keith takes a breath. “I was wondering if you could access my medical file from the Garrison and upload it to the Castle’s medical database. Coran said it could prove useful in treating my… uh, condition. Actually,” he says, nervously chewing his bottom lip, “Coran said having everyone’s medical history on file with the Castle database might be a good idea for future reference.”

“Why didn't he just ask me himself?” Pidge asks, looking perplexed.

_Shit._ “I guess maybe he felt kind of awkward bringing it up with you since humans like to keep that sort of thing private,” Keith improvises.

Pidge raises a skeptical eyebrow, then she just shrugs. “It shouldn't be a problem,” she says, and Keith breathes a tiny sigh of relief. “I mean, my old laptop is still connected to the database, although Garrison security has probably changed the passwords by now.”

“Can you figure out the new ones?” Keith asks.

“Bish please,” Pidge says flatly. “I just have to find…” she murmurs, turning over piles of space junk with her bare feet. “Aha!” she cries and plucks her old laptop from the floor. She plops down on the bed and cracks her knuckles. She navigates the trackpad for a moment, then hunkers down, her fingers flying over the keyboard like some sort of mad concert pianist. “I’m in,” she announces less than twenty-seconds later. “Sorry it took so long, the files were encrypted.”

Keith isn't sure whether she’s joking or not, so he just tries to smile as if he understands what the hell she’s talking about, and shrugs. She looks down again and Keith quickly activates the file synchronization function on the data storage unit concealed beneath his floppy sleeve. The deceptively powerful little device will create a mirror database of all the files on Pidge’s laptop.

“And uploaded,” Pidge announces, smiling brightly.

Keith nods. “Thanks,” he says. She just sits there, smiling at him and Keith finds himself unable to meet her gaze. He feels like a heel for not telling her about her mother, but he wouldn't know how to. He has no good reason to know what he knows and Pidge would only blame herself for her mother’s death.

It doesn't change the fact that she deserves to know the truth though.

“I’m… gonna go back to bed,” he says, staring at his feet. He kind of wishes it was true. He wants nothing more than to curl up under the covers and sleep for a week, but he’s the team leader now, even if the rest of the team doesn't know it. It’s his job to keep them safe.

He shivers and slowly stands up. Bile hits the back of his throat and he closes his eyes. Yeah, it’s about time he vomited again.

“Keith,” Pidge says, stopping him before he can slip out. He pauses for a moment and turns back to look at her. “We’ve all been super worried about you,” she says contritely, and Keith suddenly realizes she feels guilty about not being in the pod room when he woke up. “When Kolivan’s call came in, we all wanted to turn around and come back, but Shiro said you would understand more than anyone how important the coalition was and would want us to continue the mission.”

“He was right,” Keith says stiffly, attempting a reassuring smile. “It’s okay Pidge, I understand,” but he can tell Pidge doesn’t really believe him. He wishes he could offer her more than just his words, a pat on the head or a shoulder squeeze, but with every touch the voices in his head grow a little louder and it gets harder for him to tamp them down again. “Go back to bed,” he says kindly, “I’m sorry I woke you up so early.”

“I wish you’d come back to visit us more often,” Pidge says, hugging herself on the bed. “We all do.”

Keith doesn’t know what else to say.

He steps out into the chilly corridor and lets the door slide shut behind him. He shivers, rubbing his aching forehead, and pads back to his room. Once inside, he just stands there in the empty darkness, eyeing the sparse furnishings surrounding him. The room looks exactly the same as the day he moved in, almost as if he was never there in the first place. He rubs his eyes. He can’t stop thinking about Pidge’s mom. He feels so heavy, weighed down by everyone’s secrets.

He slides Shiro’s oversized sleeve further up his arm and taps the virtual display on the data storage unit. He scrolls through the files until he finds the one labeled “Medical Records, Student-Faculty,” and taps it open. They’re sorted by Cadet ID number. He frowns. He thinks he remembers Shiro’s. He scrolls through the files and opens the one he thinks might belong to him; that’s it, Shirogane, Takashi ID#101140. He climbs onto the bed and settles down to read it in the dark. As far as he can tell, it’s just the standard medical stuff, annual physicals, eye exams, hearing tests and…

_Holy shit!_

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Keith says out loud, his eyes widening in shock.

“Okay, I can explain,” Shiro murmurs from the shadows and Keith looks up to find his silhouette visible in the darkness.

“Lights,” he snaps, glaring at Shiro as color blooms across his cheeks and he awkwardly averts his eyes. “ _This_ is your proof?” Keith snaps tartly. “That you’re a big ol' slut?”

“Alright, easy there Texas,” Shiro says flatly.

“Great big ho.”

“No, it wasn’t like that,” Shiro says ruefully. “It was just a one time thing.”

“Chlamydia?!”

Shiro winces and Keith scowls at him. No wonder Keith didn’t realize he’d been replaced. It turns out he's never really known Shiro at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on the [tumblr](https://radiofreekerberos.tumblr.com/)


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